Curious Hands
by Poetique823
Summary: Little eyes and little feet explore the world in wonder; but even curious minds and hands must find peace in slumber.


**A/N:This baby turtle story was inspired by the artwork of Myrling entitled "Turtles Tots React To: Being Carried." It is very cute artwork and its part of a series of "Turtle Tots React To", so check out this artist on tumblr or deviantart. Hope you enjoy this little one-shot. Please leave a review! :)**

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 **Curious Hands**

 ** _Little eyes and little feet explore the world in wonder; but even curious minds and hands must find peace in slumber._**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the TMNT characters.**

 **Reposted 7/31/2015 - Grammatical corrections**

My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, my mind a frayed mess of nerves pleading for rest, but I will not lose this battle of wills.

From his perch atop the counter, he stares at me, completely unfazed he has been discovered. I scoop him from behind by the pits of his small arms, turning off the faucet he has turned on full blast. His cloth diaper is wet, though I am unsure if he has soiled himself or if it is merely from his exploration of bathroom sink inside the condemned subway station we are currently living in. I estimate he and his brothers to be no more than 6 months of age, so it is beyond me how he managed to find his way to the countertop. I sigh, kneeling in our makeshift bathroom to dress him in dry cloth.

He does not fuss when I lay him on his shell and commence taking off his soggy diaper. I rummage through a small pile of worn blankets and other materials as he immediately entertains himself by rocking back and forth on his shell trying to grab his toes. A triumphant smile ghosts my lips as I find a sizeable cloth for the turtle's bare bottom. I use a small, weathered towel to clean him. He immediately loses interest in his toes and grunts trying to see what my hands are doing. It is rather difficult to secure his diaper while he squirms and curiously looks down his plastron with wide eyes. He reaches two plump hands downward in an effort to grab at his diaper.

"Be still, child." With two fingers, I push gently against his soft plastron until he is balanced on his carapace and the lower half of his body is no longer in his line of view. He instantly finds my fingers more interesting as he feels along their narrow-pawed form. While he is distracted, I swiftly pin his diaper in place with my free hand. Wiggling my fingers from his light grasp, I lift him up, perching him on the crook of my arm as I pat his shell. Taking him back into the main area, I sit on one of the mismatched chairs and prop him up on the edge of a discarded wooden crate. Though he tends to sit up better than his brothers, I still cup the back of his shell in the cusp of my hands to keep him upright.

"Little one, you must sleep now. I am very tired and I know you must be as well." He stares directly into my mouth with inquisitive eyes as each word I say seems to intrigue him. I look behind at the clock I found in a nearby dumpster above the sewer tunnels and sigh. It is 3 o'clock in the morning. He also cranes his small neck to see what I am looking at, though he does not look at the clock, but instead finds the broken ticket box exciting as he quickly rolls over to crawl across the surface of the wooden crate. I lift him up by his waist and gently plop him back down into a sitting position to face me. "My busy little turtle, now is not the time for exploring, it is the time for sleeping. Do you understand?" He stares at my mouth again and then directly into my eyes. I stare back, mentally pleading for him to go to sleep. His little face holds the utmost seriousness as he returns my stare while sucking on his fingers. No, of course he does not understand. If he understood, this would not be the fourth night in a row that I have found him outside of his shared crib blundering with some unknown purpose through the subway station. Our staring contest ends when I can no longer hold back my mouth-stretching yawn.

He proceeds to stick his hand in my mouth.

I give him an exhausted, withering look as I remove his saliva-covered hand from my bottom teeth. He reaches for my ears when they reflexively flatten against my head in frustration. I pull my face away from him to avoid my fur being curiously pulled. "Alright, it is time to settle down now." I cradle him on my lap trying to cup his head between my arm and chest, but he will have none of it as he promptly arches himself away from the comfort of my nestling side. With an inquisitiveness that seems much older than six months, he watches me intently as I fumble in my robe's pocket and pull out a small pink box. This godsend has aided in putting the baby turtles to sleep many a nights and I pray it will work again now….for my sake.

Flipping the lid of the small box reveals a small plastic ballerina. Her painted dress is chipped and one of her arms is broken at the elbow as she spins slowly on one leg. I do not recall the melody to which she dances to, only that it reminds me of a peaceful melody my late wife once sung to my little Miwa.

A small gasp escapes the little turtle's lips before he sticks his fingers back in his mouth and gently touches the small music box with his free hand. He stops fidgeting and relaxes into the crook of my arm, completely transfixed by the small twirling ballerina. I remain still, hoping the soft tune will ease him into a serene slumber. I blink slowly once, then twice as my last thoughts drift back a lifetime ago to a loving wife and precious daughter.

I frown slightly as movement around my feet makes me blink lazily from the realms of sleep. Not fully awake, I look down.

"Little one, what have you done?" I am astonished at the sight. The music box is overturned and the ballerina platform is missing. A graveyard of springs, small gears, and a metal comb and cylinder surround the content baby turtle. Startled out of his play, he looks up, mocking me with innocent brown eyes. It is beyond me why he insists on destroying everything he wraps his fingers around.

However, his destructive nature is quickly forgotten as dread fills my chest. His little hand is wrapped around the ballerina who is currently halfway in his mouth. "No!" In a panic I snatch the plastic figure from his grasp tossing it behind me as I quickly lift him on to the tabletop. His eyes are no longer filled with wonder, but with confusion and fear as they become glossy and his bottom lip begins to tremble. I try to pry his mouth open, but he whimpers and keeps turning away from me. I grasp his rounded cheeks between my thumb and index finger to hold his head still as I take my other hand and use my finger to swab the inside of his mouth. There were so many little pieces of metal and plastic… what if he chokes or swallows something and becomes sick? You silly rat-man, you could have killed this innocent child!

The same way I allowed my daughter to burn painfully to her death.

My breath hitches painfully in my chest as the truth of those thoughts weigh heavily on my conscious.

Thankfully, there is nothing in his mouth and he does not appear to be choking. He is a bit frightened, but unharmed. I sigh as a headache grates across my temple at being jerked awake in such a panic. His muffled whimper draws my attention from my mournful thoughts. He sucks fervently on his fingers, using his other hand to point down at the mess he has made of the music box as he leans forward in an effort to get down from the crate.

"No, that is quite enough destruction for one night. You are going to sleep." I leave no room for any nonverbal arguments as I lift him into my arms and step over the mess on the floor. He whines as I walk the floor, patting his shell. His verbal complaints sound shaky with each bouncing pat of his shell. He is the quietest out of the four turtles. He does not babble with baby talk like his siblings, only making quiet sounds of contentment or disapproval as he is doing now. "Why do you fight me so at night, little one?" He is extremely nosy. Even now he twists and turns trying to see _everything_ , even though they are the same things he sees during the day…. _every_ day. He continues to fidget in my arms, anything to keep from going to sleep. "It is time for curious little turtles to sleep now. You will not miss anything in your slumber; all will be as it is now. Just sleep, little one, sleep."

He finally starts to yawn around his pitiful whines. His tiny struggles begin to slow as he settles against my chest with half-lidded eyes. I continue to rub his shell as I take him back into the abandoned subway car which serves as our sleeping quarters. I was able to find a plastic crate and line it with worn blankets and slightly stained pillows to make a crib of some sort. The other turtles are sleeping peacefully and I can only assume their thoughts are warm and pleasant against the harsh realities of our existence. When the turtle in my arms realizes where we are, he sluggishly tries to escape my grasp, but his sleep-laden struggles are futile. I maneuver him from my shoulder and cradle him in my arms as I sit in lotus position. The sewer grates outside the subway car are the only light source, providing a soft glow to the makeshift room. I watch with amusement as the little turtle cradled in my arms starts to relax only to jerk himself awake, waving chubby arms and legs sporadically at the air in a humorous effort to stay awake. He groans his frustration as his body relaxes once again. He does this arm-and-leg-jerking dance twice before his little body finally gives in to exhaustion. He sucks passively on his fingers as his other hand jerks and fidgets busily in his sleep. I suppose he is dreaming of dismantling something else in our little home. I cover his squirming hand with my own until it becomes still.

"Curious hands need rest too, Donatello."

 **The End**

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